Authors: Paul Crilley

Rise of the Darklings (23 page)

Emily had lived around Seven Dials for the past few years, and she knew the area as well as any part of London. She had always thought of it as a small Irish town magically separated from the rest of the city. It was filled with the Irish,
and almost no other nationality lived here unless given permission. She’d heard talk about how dangerous it was, how violent the people were. But she had never experienced that.

“So you’re saying there’s more of them? All over London?” Jack cast a nervous glance around the street. “Are there any here now?”

“No,” said Emily. “Anyway, you’d be able to see if there were. Corrigan gave you the sight, remember? When he let you see him, he gave you the ability to see all of the fey.”

“I wonder what kind of treasures they have,” said Jack musingly.

“Don’t even think about it, Jack. They’ll probably cut your hands off if they catch you.”

“
If
they catch me. Which they won’t. Because I’m—”

“—Spring-Heeled Jack, I know.”

Corrigan had said to take Great St. Andrew’s Street. Emily still didn’t know why. She’d been in the street a hundred times over the years and she knew there was no pub there, for the fey or otherwise.

The reason Emily knew Great St. Andrew’s so well was because of what was sold there: birds, dozens of different kinds. When she came during the day, she would close her eyes and let the cacophony of sounds wash over her. The chittering call of the goldcrests, the cheep of the finches, the scolding cry of the blackbirds, and the mimicry of the
starling. The birds all hung close together in their cramped cages. Yellow canaries and green lovebirds, robin redbreasts, and even strange parrots from as far away as Africa. Their color and sound always distracted her from the drabness and soot stains of the city.

But the birds were all quiet now, sleeping inside the shops.

“Do you know where you’re going?” asked Jack.

“Course I do,” said Emily.

Actually, she didn’t, not really. Corrigan had said there was an alley halfway up the street, but Emily hadn’t remembered ever seeing one. She led Jack past closed-up shops and shadowy doorways until, sure enough, as she approached the halfway point, she saw a narrow lane separating two decrepit shops. She was positive it hadn’t been here before.

She looked up at the street sign:
OBERON’S COURT
. No, she’d definitely never seen this before.

“This it?” asked Jack.

“I think so,” said Emily, peering inside. All she could see were dark shadows. The alley didn’t seem too deep, but as her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she realized this was because the path turned sharply to the left about ten paces in. Emily sighed, feeling inside her coat to make sure the Queen’s seeing stone was still there.

She and Jack exchanged a look, then both stepped forward.

The shadows closed quickly around them, cutting off the
light as if a bank of clouds had covered the moon. Emily and Jack hurried forward, following the alley as it turned to the left. Another ten steps and the path veered back to the right. They stayed on the path as it ran deeper and deeper into what Emily assumed were the mews and courts that ran behind the main roads of Seven Dials.

It was only when she stepped out of a final stretch of cobbled alleyway that she realized how wrong she was.

The street that opened up beyond the twisting alley was filled with fey. They darted in and out of shops, still open despite the late hour. They sat on the windowsills of wooden houses two, three, sometimes four stories high, talking to friends on the street below or to faeries hovering in the air. A large, shambling creature stalked across the street, pausing to stare at Emily and Jack before heaving a large, heartfelt sigh and moving on again. The sounds of street life were familiar to her—angry shouting, raucous laughter, the calling out of names, the wooden trundling of carts being pushed across the uneven cobbles, the clink of bottles from a hidden taproom. If Emily closed her eyes, she could think it just another night on Oxford Street.

Jack stood with his mouth hanging open, staring at everything with wide eyes.

“Close your mouth,” said Emily. “You’ll let the flies in.” She remembered her da had said that to her once, after he’d
read her a story about a witch trying to eat two children. He’d loved stories, did her da.

Corrigan had said to find a pub called the Unicorn’s Head. Emily looked up and down the street but couldn’t see any such sign. She walked up the street, Jack following closely behind her. Nobody paid them much attention. That suited Emily fine. The sooner she could find Corrigan, the sooner they could track down her brother.

But Emily couldn’t find the tavern anywhere. The street curved gently to the right, then ended abruptly at a brick wall. She checked all the signs again. The pub had to be here somewhere.

“You will all die horrible deaths!” shouted a voice.

Emily and Jack both jumped. They turned in a circle, looking for the source of the voice. Crowds milled along the street, seemingly unconcerned with the threat. In fact, not one creature seemed to think anything was amiss.

“Ungrateful wretches! I was your King! You owe me
respect
. I have powerful friends, you know.”

Emily looked in the direction of the voice and saw an enormously fat fey. He was the height of an adult man, but so large he couldn’t even stand. He sat in a wooden wagon, his huge stomach hanging over the front and almost trailing against the ground.

“Will you look at the size of him,” said Jack in awe.

The crowd closed in around the fey again, but Emily and Jack pushed through to get a closer look. He pointed at a faerie that flew slowly past. “You! Sianna. I know you. I saved you from that wretch, Shakespeare. You owe me your loyalty.”

The faerie known as Sianna stuck her tongue out at him and flew away. The creature sputtered his rage.

“H-How dare you! I am Oberon! I was your King! You cannot treat me like this!”

But he was speaking to thin air, as everyone else had moved away from him. He tried to turn around, but his girth prevented him from moving anything more than his head. He clicked his fingers impatiently. “Come on!
Come on!”

A moment later the wagon he sat in began to trundle around until it faced directly into the street. Emily hadn’t noticed before, but there were about ten wooden handles sticking out from the base of the wagon, and small children with the heads of ravens were pushing on these handles.

“Hurry up!” roared Oberon. “I haven’t got all day.”

“A sad sight,” said a polite voice at her side.

Emily looked down and saw the top of a black bowler hat somewhere around her waist. “Excuse me?”

The bowler tilted back, revealing a chubby face the color of oak wood. It was a gnome, like Mr. and Mrs. Stintle, only younger. Emily blinked in bemusement. It appeared he had a false mustache glued to his upper lip.

“Oh, no, madam. And sir,” he said, nodding respectfully at Jack. “Please, excuse
me
.” With these words the small creature stepped back, whipped off his hat, and executed a graceful bow. He was dressed as a gentleman, with a finely stitched waistcoat beneath his brown tweed jacket, a crisp white shirt, and a gold chain that disappeared into his breast pocket. His shoes were so clean, Emily reckoned she would be able to see her reflection if she bent over.

He also had a small walking stick, which he held hooked over his forearm.

“I see you are admiring my attire,” said the creature.

“Uh, yes. Very nice. Very … very
gentlemanly.”

The gnome’s face broke into a huge smile. “Oh, do you really think so? Truly?”

Emily found herself rather taken aback by his enthusiasm. “Um. Yes?”

“Oh, thank you so much. You don’t know how much that means to me. My name is Mr. Pemberton, by the way.”

“Pemberton?”

“Yes. Such a regal-sounding name, don’t you think?” The gnome took out a pocket watch from the breast pocket of his jacket. He flicked open the cover and Emily saw that there were no hands on the clock face. “My, my, doesn’t time fly.” He snapped the lid shut and put the watch away again. Then he looked suspiciously at Emily. “You
are
a True Seer, aren’t you?”

“A …?”

“A True Seer. I mean, you can really see me. You’re not mad and just
think
you’re talking to someone?”

“No, I can see you very well.”

“Excellent. Good show.” He looked at Jack. “And you?”

Jack hesitated, looking at Emily for help.

“He was given the sight,” said Emily. “By a piskie.”

“Ah, I see. You are very lucky,” he said to Jack.

“Am I?”

“Oh, indeed. It is very rare that one of your lot is given the gift. You must be very special.”

Jack proudly drew himself up. “As a matter of fact—”

“You don’t happen to know where the Unicorn’s Head is, do you?” Emily asked, interrupting Jack before he could get started.

Mr. Pemberton flashed her a smile. “My dear! But, of course. Happy to be of service. It’s right there.” He lifted his walking stick and pointed past her leg.

Emily turned around and found herself facing a building that looked much the same as any other on the street. There was nothing to indicate it was a public house at all.

“Are you sure? Only—”

She was cut off when the door burst open and Corrigan came sprinting out. A tankard flew through the air behind him. He ducked, narrowly avoiding the metal cup.

“Hah! As usual, Millicent, your aim is as good as your food. Which is to say not good at all!”

He turned and saw Emily. He stumbled to a stop, casting a venomous look at Mr. Pemberton, then hurried over. “Did you get it?” he asked excitedly.

“I did,” said Emily.

Corrigan broke into a huge smile. He stepped away and danced a little jig. “I knew you’d come through, Emily Snow. I always knew it.” He stopped and glared at Mr. Pemberton. “What are you staring at? Get lost.”

Pemberton blew out his cheeks in outrage. “You, sir, are a buffoon.” He bowed to Emily and Jack, once again taking off his bowler hat. “Madam. Sir. It was a pleasure.”

“Nice to meet you, too. Uh …” Emily hesitated.

“Is anything the matter?” Mr. Pemberton asked.

“Well, it’s just that … your mustache …”

“A magnificent specimen, I think you’ll agree. What of it?”

“It’s hanging off your lip. I think the glue must have gotten old.”

Pemberton turned red and clapped a hand over his mouth. He backed away, bowing as he did so. “Fank-u,” he said, his voice muffled behind his fingers. “’m frever in ur debt.”

Then he turned around and hurried off as fast as his legs would take him.